


with certainty

by braithwaites



Series: the hounds of hades [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Bathing/Washing, F/M, First Kiss, Gentle Kissing, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 17:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16685650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braithwaites/pseuds/braithwaites
Summary: “Are you certain?” he asked her. There was a twinkle in his eyes – two stars lost in a sea of brown. It took her a moment to realize she was reflected there, too, lit up like a setting sun in the lamplight. “I don't mean to second guess you, Madelaine, but... I need you to be sure.”





	with certainty

**Author's Note:**

> Madelaine Vallières knows Dutch is bound to leave Valentine one night and never come back. She didn't know she'd be so willing to leave with him.

Dutch didn’t like bubbles in his bath.  
  
Most customers enjoyed the novelty of them, even though they added very little to their cleanliness. They added to the experience, in a way. A few of the men even tapped into some inner child they thought to have lost long ago, scooping them up and covering their freshly shaved faces in a droopy rendition of their old beard and mustache.  
  
Madelaine swirled a hand around in the steaming hot water, her skin going bright red and soft the moment her fingertips sank beneath the surface. The entire room smelled of nothing but the few drops of oil she dropped into the water right as Dutch arrived. Every breath tasted of citrus and bergamot. She couldn’t smell much of the flowers advertised to be part of the concoction, but even their luxuries were bought at a slight discount.  
  
Behind the dressing screen, she heard the clink of spurs as he set his boots down on the floor, followed by the rustle of clothing and a relieved sigh once the buttons on his vest gave way. She felt the threat of a smile at the corner of her mouth and focused on mixing the oil through the water instead.  
  
Most days, she just smelled like soap, but on days when Dutch came through Valentine, she smelled of oranges.

“I apologize for the wait, Miss Madelaine.”  
  
Madeline glanced in the direction of his voice just as Dutch stepped out from behind the faded cream and brown of the screen. He stood there for a moment, taking in a deep breath of the oil he paid a pretty penny for before moving over to the bath.  
  
Rather than stepping into the water on the side where she sat, he was polite about entering the bath, going around to the other side and stepping in without any dramatics. The water was hot, but not hot enough to burn. Getting clean was easier in a bath that was steaming, and that’s what Dutch van der Linde wanted -- to get clean.  
  
“Is no trouble,” Madelaine murmured as she drew her hand out of the water, resting it beside the faded blue-gray of her skirt. “You take your time now.”  
  
Dutch’s reply was little more than a quiet _mmhmm_ as he sank his head back against the bathtub. The water rose as it cradled his body up to his ribs, leaving only his chest, neck, and relaxed face bare. She let him have the moment, busying herself instead with stowing away the bottle of oil and turning up the lantern to give the room an even brighter glow.  
  
He was late into town. Usually, he arrived in time with the sun, but on that day, the streets were already mostly empty when he pressed the necessary thirty cents for the bath he wanted.

Brighter lights meant harsher shadows, but she didn't mind either.

“The day's been long,” Dutch murmured without opening his eyes as she settled down on the narrow rim of the tub again, taking a towel into her hand. “You must have those sorts of days, given your line of work. The sort of day where you feel tired down to the marrow in your bones, like you'll never be rid of it.”

She knew enough about him to know that his tired wasn't anything like her tired. Madelaine worked long days, but at the end of those long days, all she had was exhaustion to contend with. Not guilt, not quick-burning anger, not second thoughts and regret. Some part of Dutch felt familiar in that way; her life had been steered to Valentine by a man she didn't really know or understand.

Maybe one such man would steer her away from the small town and her small life in the Saints Hotel, too.

“Yes... I know, I know,” Madelaine whispered, even though she didn't. She dipped the rag into the water until it was soaked through. The moment the towel touched his skin, she heard him sigh, felt him shift a little deeper into the water. “Rest now, in case you can't later.”

“That's why I came here.” Her eyes trailed up over Dutch's skin to his eyes as she washed his pale chest. They were beautiful, his eyes; they were the deep, rich brown of coffee and only a little unfocused. Most men let themselves go in a bath, only clinging onto basic decency to keep from being kicked out. But Dutch... Dutch had an iron grip on his senses that only ever eased a little. “Lately, I've found that the only time I can truly rest is when Madelaine is giving me a bath.”

Madelaine ducked her head, her steady gaze wavering as she ran the towel up over his neck and around the back, leaving his black hair the slightest bit damp. She never had trouble maintaining eye contact with anyone who wasn't Dutch, but good God, did she ever have trouble with him.

“I appreciate that,” she said, her words leaving her in a flustered laugh. Whether or not she was flushed, she couldn't tell; the room was too warm from the bath to notice any sudden changes.

Dutch shifted in the water, lifted a hand to rub over his face, sighed against the palm of his hand.

“Is there something else bothering you?”

His hand fell away, and when it did, Madelaine caught a glimpse of the truth. That night, Dutch van der Linde went to her because he was in no small amount of pain. Anguish, even. There were half-moons of blue beneath his eyes, and even tucked into a steaming hot bath, his cheeks were pale. The only color he wore was the red of his mouth, his lips only soft from working at them with his tongue.

“We're moving on soon,” he told her. “I won't be circling back to Valentine very often, and... I don't quite know how I feel about that.”

She didn't know what else was bothering Dutch, but she could tell by the delicate way he offered that to her that it wasn't the truth. Or, rather, it was true, just not what was wrecking him. Still, she felt herself lean into his words, cradled by what they could mean.

If he didn't want to travel farther away from Valentine, might be it was her tethering him to the place.

Madelaine lifted the arm nearest to her by taking his hand, fingers curling around his. She washed from his shoulder to his elbow, from his elbow to his wrist.  
  
“And why is that?”

Dutch made a low noise in his throat. “Because... in all of my life, I've never come upon a woman who was quite so gentle with me.” That low noise became an even lower chuckle. “You do your job well, Madelaine.”

She ducked her head, one of her red cheeks buried into the hair that spilled over her shoulder. While she knew he had no reason to miss anything but the baths, some part of her still hoped he'd not want to leave her behind for other reasons. Deeper, warmer reasons.

Madelaine let his arm sink down into the water before lifting the other one and repeating the process.

“Thank you, sir.”

Dutch wrapped his fingers around hers before she could do the same, holding her hand still.

“Now... what's that?” he asked, leaning just far enough forward to catch her eyes. She shifted them away only once before they found their way back. “You don't do this often, but occasionally, I'll say something, and you'll go quiet. You'll focus on your work rather than me.”

Madelaine wet her bottom lip, pulling it into her mouth for a moment as she sorted through her thoughts to find an excuse. “You just complimented me on my work, Mr. van der Linde.”

“Not only your work,” Dutch told her without letting go of her hand. “You'll find that there's more than that in what I said.”  
  
His grip loosened enough for her to free herself if she wanted, but she lingered there, her fingers twitching in the loose circle of his own. Their flesh was the same temperature, she noticed. Because of the bathwater.

Touching him felt as natural as touching her own skin.

“You'll have to help me understand.” Madelaine tilted her head, but didn't waver. Even the parts of her that usually drove her to look away stood there, rooted into the ground and unmoving. “Tell me what it is you meant. I want... I want to know.”

Beyond the locked door, she heard the rolling footsteps of someone headed towards the stairwell down to the first floor. There was a laugh from the room across the hallway, a quiet moan from upstairs that could just barely be heard through everything else. There was no quiet in the Saints Hotel, but for some of them, there was peace.

Dutch sat up straighter. The shift in his position brought them closer together, though not quite close enough to touch at any point other than their hands. He drew them closer, too, and she let him, watching as he brought her fingers close to his mouth.

“I could explain myself to you, Madelaine,” he said, his voice as quiet as a whisper against the back of her hand. The skin was pink. Most of her was by then. “Or, I could show you what I mean.”

His lips brushed over the winding blue veins that ran up from her knuckles before disappearing at her wrist. Then, he looked at her again, one of his thick brows arched in question.

 _Do you want this?_ he asked without saying a word.

Madelaine took as deep a breath as she could manage, her free hand clutching the towel on her lap. Bathwater soaked into her skirts, darkening the blue-gray to black. She stared into Dutch's eyes. She nodded, not knowing the full extent of what she was allowing. For some reason, Madelaine found that she trusted him. With that, if nothing else.

He turned her hand over in his, baring the callused skin that had been softened by the water and her wrinkled fingertips.

“You've got beautiful hands,” Dutch told her, brushing his mouth over her palm. “Strong.” He shifted down to her fingers, and she trembled when his mustache tickled over her tender skin. “Tapered, too. They look more delicate than they are.” He trailed his lips right down to the tips of her fingers. He kissed one of them, then another. “Even when I've gone a week or more without coming around, I remember what they feel like.”

Madelaine's heart sped up in her chest, rabbit-fast. She touched over Dutch's bottom lip, then down over his chin. The towel she'd clung onto so dearly slipped to the floor when she reached for his face with both hands, cupping the severe line of his jaw. Even the skin that hadn't been pulled beneath the water was warm; she felt a certain relief, knowing she wasn't the only one.  
  
“You think of me?” she asked him, thumbing over the soft skin of his cheeks. The stroke followed one of the wrinkles that curled around his mouth, just deep enough to give her a path. “I... never would've expected that.”

“Often.” Dutch didn't shut his eyes. This time, he took his comfort with them open, staring up at her, most of his face shaded by the lamp at his back. “At night, early in the morning. When the camp is quiet and I need to pull away from my worries for a time.”

And then, without another word, he laid his hand on her hip, coaxing her closer on the rim of the bath.

Madelaine moved as she was bid. She shifted closer and closer until they were only inches apart, faces bowed close. The hand on her hip moved upwards, resting on her waist as she brought herself even nearer to him, her forehead pressing gently against his.  
  
“I've been dealing with one hell of a dilemma,” Dutch whispered. The moment her hands sank down to his chest and shoulder, he let go of a pleased sigh. “Our world is dangerous by nature. Even this hotel isn't safe, just by virtue of being this far out west. But bringing you out with me, having you by my side where I want you? I'd be putting you at an even greater risk. Now, I know that better than most people.”

There was a tenderness to how he spoke, like testing a wound. She knew there were stories she'd never hear, or at least, stories she'd only earn after a year or two or more. His voice carried those memories, slow and steady and something else.

Hopeful, maybe.

“But... Madelaine.”

There was an intimacy to the way he said her name, to the way he stroked over the laces that ran up the back of her corset and whispered those three sounds. The bath was still warm, and no warmer than he was in that moment.

“I don't relish the idea of leaving you behind, either.” Dutch's fingers curled at her back; she could just barely feel it through her layers. “Hence the dilemma.”

Madelaine struggled between the urge to lean forward and the urge to lean back, closer to Dutch's lips or Dutch's touch. She wet her lips again before speaking. When she did, her voice was as quiet as his. “You want me to make the decision for you.”

Dutch opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it, settling for a simple, “Yes.”

Her father had been in the ground for ten years. There were questions she still held close to her chest about what happened to him, about who tracked him down and put a bullet in his head, but she'd never know the taste of an answer, not for any of those questions she carried. She knew that in ten years, she'd have unanswered questions about Dutch van der Linde, too. There was no denying that.

Madelaine ran her fingers along the curve of his collarbone. Her touch lightened as she circled around one of the many moles that covered his skin, dark against the parts of him the sun rarely kissed.

The parts of him she wanted to kiss until they turned as red as a burn, or the rich purple of a bruise.

That was her answer, she realized. Letting him head off after the bath, never to be seen again? That just wasn't the option she was willing to take, so she reached for the second, more dangerous choice.

“Take me with you,” Madelaine whispered.

She moved to repeat herself, but found that she couldn't. The pressure of Dutch's mouth on hers made her swallow those words instead, leaving her breathless and eager as she pressed back into the kiss. Her hands slid into his hair, short nails brushing against his scalp as she held onto him, coaxing him closer as he'd done to her only a while before.  
  
A whimper escaped between what little room they left between them, only to soften into a sigh that mingled with his as he sucked on her upper lip.

“Are you certain?” he asked her. There was a twinkle in his eyes – two stars lost in a sea of brown. It took her a moment to realize she was reflected there, too, lit up like a setting sun in the lamplight. “I don't mean to second guess you, Madelaine, but... I need you to be sure.”

How could she be certain? Her life at the Saints Hotel was simple enough, but she was no stranger to the life of an outlaw, even though she hadn't known she was one until that life was over and another chapter started with her father gone. She didn't know how to shoot a gun, but she knew what one sounded like. She knew how to staunch the blood from a wound, how to mourn without letting death break you.

She knew enough. And what she didn't know, she was willing to learn for the man who didn't like bubbles in his bath and left her smelling of oranges.

“I'm certain,” Madelaine said, then kissed him again.


End file.
